Aversion
by EllaPenny
Summary: Hermione and Harry have returned for their final year at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, so has Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy family's reputation has been in shreds since the war, but another twist of fate could make it better - or worse. On top of all that, the Death Eaters aren't quite done yet. Set during 8th year.
1. Chapter 1

Tuesday, September 1st, 1998

This day was a very nerve-wracking day for Hermione Granger. She was the sort of girl who was far more likely to sit quietly reading a book in the library than make a grand entrance, and yet here she was. About to stand in front of hundreds of people. She was home, at Hogwarts, but she'd never been more uncomfortable to be around her fellow students in her life. Her hand tightened around Harry's and Ron's beside her, and she managed to straighten her back a little. She could hear the chatter and laughter of carefree students behind the huge oak doors, and her breath caught in her throat a little, as it so often did in the aftermath of the Battle.

The Battle of Hogwarts had been ended that previous May, and the joy at having fought hard and won against Voldemort and his army was still very fresh for everyone, along with the pain of their losses. In the weeks following the Battle, the Weasleys had distracted themselves from Fred's death by enlisting help from wizards all over the country to rebuild the school. George had spent three weeks alone grieving and rebuilding the seventh floor corridor where Fred had lost his life brick by brick, and the completion of this work brought him more closure than anyone could have hoped. It had been George's idea to immortalise all of the Order of the Phoenix members and students who had died in the war by engraving the bricks in that very corridor, just past where the entrance to the Room of Requirement had been. Hundreds of names now glistened a bright gold against the cold grey of the stones. When the setting sun shone in through the west window, the corridor glowed as if heaven itself had descended upon it.

The school was mostly rebuilt by the time it had reopened in September, and its former glory had returned in full. Along with this, many of the 7th year students from the previous year who had either been on the run or in hiding had returned to the school in order to pursue completion of their education, making the school feel far more homely and familiar to Hermione. However, Professor Mcgonagall, the newly enacted headmistress, had felt that the younger students would benefit from seeing the three war heroes all together at the beginning of the year, in tribute to the loss, but also as a sign of strength and a conclusion to the era of war for the students. Harry had utterly refused at first, resenting the attention, but had resigned to going through with it when Professor Mcgonagall had permitted all of the returning young war heroes to stand with them.

So now, as Professor Mcgonagall stood at the head of the Great Hall ready to introduce them, they all sat together waiting to enter.

One by one, they entered the hall. Harry first, and then Ron, and Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Luna.

The noise was overwhelming. Students were craning their necks and straining their eyes to see the famous group, stood on stools and applauding loudly. For many, this had been the first time they'd seen Harry, Ron, and Hermione since May. Hermione almost immediately noticed the shock of blonde hair sat at the Slytherin table; the only person in the entire Hall who was not looking at them.

"Thank you. Quiet, settle down." Mcgonagall's voice called out to the hall once the six had been seated at a special table set aside at the front. This would not be their normal table once the school year had started properly; they would be expected to retake their seats at their house tables after the Start of Year Feast. Professor Mcgonagall appeared a little overwhelmed by the idea of facing the students herself, seeing only the loved ones they had lost in their innocent faces. "This past year has been harder on Hogwarts School and its students than history will ever truly comprehend. Each of us sitting here today, laughing, eating, learning, and making memories in the safety of these walls owes their livelihoods to the souls lost and the sacrifices made by students no older or more magically experienced than yourselves. But it would be an insult not to call them heroes for that reason alone. And these six young people, who I am more than proud to say I have taught myself for seven years," Mcgonagall's hand turned to the small table at the front of the hall, "formed the spearhead of our young army. I will now hand the floor over to our very own Harry Potter, who I believe has a few words to say before the Sorting Ceremony begins."

Hermione knew that he'd been planning this, but the twitching of his hand told her he was still far from being a fan of public speaking. The room seemed to intensify with curiosity at him approaching the front-and-centre spot of the room.

"Hi." He began. "You all know me, in one way or another. I knew many of you from long before the battle, and so you will know how much I resent the attention I have always received for things I have no control over. The Boy Who Lived, war hero… _unwilling_. I know it's odd. But in the aftermath of the horrors we've faced together, and the realistic possibility of this ever happening again, I think that I have to say something." Hermione could see Harry's palms sweating, but he maintained a perfect calm in his face and voice. "I heard a story once of a teenager, no older than me, who drank poison that put him in unbearable pain, knowing he was killing himself, to help in the battle to destroy Voldemort forever. That brave, noble boy was Regulus Black. A pure-blood Death Eater. He sacrificed his own life for a house elf, and for the muggleborns sat here today." There were a few uncertain mumbles in the audience, but when he spoke again, Hermione was sure she'd have been able to hear a pin drop. "I know another story of a man, a very brave man that fell in love with a muggleborn girl as a child, and gave his life fighting to protect her and her legacy almost eighteen years after she had died at the hands of Voldemort. He single-handedly fooled Voldemort's entire army into believing he was on their side, whilst working all the time to bring him down. He was a Slytherin, an inner circle Death Eater, and right-hand man of Voldemort himself. That man was Severus Snape." There was absolute silence from the students in the Great Hall.

"I realised over the last few months that the reason this school is so loved, and also so hated, is because of the traditions we have here. The Quidditch matches, the houses, the rivalries, and the friendships I've made have been some of my most cherished memories, and in light of the rebuilding of the school, I think these also must be re-established. However, I'm going to make it my personal aim to include every house fairly in the traditions. I will give every member of every house the chance to evolve into better versions of themselves, and put an end to the stigma and stereotypes that started this war in the first place."

All eyes followed him as he walked to the left-most side of the hall, remaining at the front and speaking in a more confident tone than Hermione had ever heard him use. She was positive he was trembling on the inside, but he didn't let it show.

"Slytherin House. Former and future members of Slytherin House. This is your formal invitation to join every other House in a place of honour in the war. These war heroes were Slytherin inside and out, and that will not be forgotten. Your house is built on ambition, cunning, and pride, not blood purity, and I will not let it stand for that any more. In light of this, before I came down here today, I went to the Headmaster's study with my friend Hermione, and together we worked out a spell to alter the Sorting Hat just slightly. From this year forward, Slytherin House will be accepting students of any blood status, and regardless of background."

* * *

Draco Malfoy felt as if he'd quite like to be swallowed by the floor.

Potter's words hung in the air like fog. Draco could feel all eyes from across all of the Houses turn towards him and his friends, other known ex-Death Eaters who had chosen to return to the school, which were decidedly few, waiting for one of them to make any sign of distaste for the announcement. Draco froze his face into place, and continued staring straight ahead towards the front of the room. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't feel particularly well, and he wasn't sure why. His palms were sweating and he felt a twist of anxiety deep in his stomach, as if he was nervous, but he told himself firmly that he would not be broken now. He'd known this would be hard.

Himself, Vincent Crabbe, and Theodore Nott were the only initiated ex-Death Eaters who had been forced to return into education, Crabbe for his lack of qualifications in anything besides human cruelty and Nott because both of his parents had been indicted and imprisoned for life, so he'd needed the food and shelter. Of course, there were other children of Death Eaters who still attended the school; but none who had been followers of the Dark Lord themselves, Griselda Gwendolyn, Steve Slinkhard, Bertrand Runcorn, and Fraiser Hewlett, to name a few. Nott and Crabbe were among the very few Death Eaters who had been put on parole for three months and then released due to their lack of actual involvement with Death Eater activity. Most of the Slytherins who hadn't been Death Eaters had also preferred to simply blend into society after the war instead of coming back to school, such as Pansy and Zabini.

Draco, unlike his friends, had not been given any form of choice in his reappearance at Hogwarts. His parents, Lucius and Narcissa, had been tried along with other Death Eaters, and been acquitted due to Narcissa's sparing of Harry Potter during the Battle; Narcissa's lie had kept Potter alive to end the war. Because of this, there were still many, many wizards who believed Draco's parents should be in Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters. Their reputation had been utterly shattered in good wizarding society by the ending of the war, despite their continued wealth, and so his mother had insisted that he come back to complete his education, and to clear the Malfoy name as much as possible. Draco, as could be expected, was not exactly ecstatic with this arrangement, and even less so when he found that two of the Golden Trio would be returning to school as well, but he could hardly protest. To his relief, Weasley had declined to return to school after being offered a permanent position as an Auror trainer, so he would only have to face Hero Potter and Know-It-All Granger this year.

He listening to the rest of the introductory speech without rapt attention, ignoring the glances towards his end of the table once again when _Bellamy, Francesca_, the very first muggle-born ever, was sorted into Slytherin. She received much more enthusiastic applause than any of the other first year students did, with claps coming from all four tables and the High Table at the front as well. Once the Sorting was over, with four muggleborns in total ending up in Slytherin House, and the feast had been thoroughly enjoyed, Draco stood to exit the Hall. He kept his head down, just like his mother had told him to, and did not say a word all the way out of the Hall.

_No_, he thought. He would not be broken now.

* * *

That same night, in the pitch black shadow of the Forbidden Forest, a secret meeting was taking place. Four silhouettes stood, hands in their pockets, shivering in the night air, waiting. The hoods of their robes were up, obscuring their faces, but in the dim light of the moon, four green ties fluttered in the breeze. All four turned at the sound of someone loping down the green behind them, towards them.

Theodore Nott did not have his hood up.

"What are you all standing around for?" His voice was cutting and his tone disparaging. "We have work to do."

"Well, actually, I was hoping you could tell us a little more about what it looks like. We're kind of searching blind here." A haughty-looking boy's face was thrown into the moonlight as he spoke.

"Hewlett, you're a pureblood wizard, correct?" Nott's voice was dangerous and precise. Hewlett nodded immediately, eager to reinforce his blood status. "And your uncle… He's in Azkaban serving a life sentence for aiding the Death Eaters, true?" Hewlett's nod was far less enthusiastic now. "Then do you not think you should have done a little more research before coming out here in the middle of the night to search for an object you have no idea about?" Nott's voice dropped another octave as he spoke. Hewlett dropped his head.

"You've heard all the stories growing up. The Resurrection Stone is a small, diamond-shaped black rock. Like black glass. It's tiny. We will have to scour every inch of this Forest to find it, turn over every leaf. Are we clear?"

"How do you even know it's in the Forest?" A tall, pencil-thin girl spoke next. Her black hair ran flat down her pallid face and her nose was upturned.

Nott exhaled sharply in frustration and pinched his nose. "Why are you even here, Gwendolyn? Did none of you think to do some reconnaissance before this? Do you not all have family and friends unjustly locked up for trying to re-establish the proper order of things? Are you not all _sick to death_ of pandering to mudbloods and muggles, allowing them to think they're on the same level as us? Are any of you passionate about what we're doing _at all_?"

Nobody spoke for a moment.

"Potter dropped the Stone in the Forest during the Battle of Hogwarts. We have only a vague idea of where he dropped it, so we have to look carefully. Now move. Get to it. We have to be back by 3, or we won't sleep. Prepare to be out here every night for a long time."

"What if it doesn't work?" Said a dark boy stood on the fringes of the group. He met Nott's gaze unflinchingly. "What if he's truly dead and he can't return?"

Nott's extra height gave him the authority he needed when he stood up straight and looked the speaker, Slinkhard, dead in the eyes. "There are always ways for him to return."


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione brushed a piece of her long, curly brown hair behind her ear as she concentrated. For the past week, she had been preparing for this class. At the front of the room, the desk closest to the teacher, sat Hermione and Harry. Hermione scribbled more notes as Professor Mcgonagall continued preparing the class for their practical session. Harry finally, almost lazily, swiped her quill from between her fingers.

"Come on, how much more can you possibly have to write?" Harry held her quill away from her as she scowled and grabbed for it.

"Plenty! I need to be properly prepared for this, Harry, it's important."

"Mr Potter. Miss Granger. Something to share with the class, perhaps?" She stared beadily down at the pair of them. She was making an extra effort to treat them as if they were any other students. Unfortunately, that meant they were extra-scrutinised.

Hermione flushed deep red. "No, professor." Harry smiled gloatingly and handed her back her quill. She snatched it without looking at him.

It was their fifth lesson in the newly established Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The professors had decided before the term had begun that it seemed unfair – and a tad patronising – to have the students who had participated in the downfall of Voldemort to be placed in the regular DADA classes. Therefore, their solution was to set up a new class, with even more advanced defensive skills, which would be open to the seventh- and eighth-year students who had been a part of the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore's Army. The class, decidedly much smaller than other final year classes, was comprised of almost exclusively people who had physically fought alongside Harry only months ago. Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and Parvati Patil sat at the table behind Hermione, Ginny Weasley sat on Harry's right side. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and Lavender Brown were at the table across from theirs.

It was a class of veterans, Hermione thought soberly. They had all lost people. Padma Patil, Parvati's twin sister, had been lost in the first wave of the Battle of Hogwarts. Lavender – who herself had been left with a gruesome scar on her neck from Greyback's attack – had lost her father when he'd gone to Hogsmeade to collect her younger brother before the Battle had even begun. All of them had lost friends.

For the last week, Professor Mcgonagall had been educating them on the technical side of the Cruciatus Curse, having made abundantly clear at the beginning of the year that they would be looking at very sensitive subject matter. At the end of each subject, the students must try to resist whatever spells they have been put under. Anyone who was not willing to participate in the subject of the class was able to leave should they wish to, an option that had been offered to, and declined by, Neville, for the Cruciatus Curse lessons.

"I don't think it's helpful to me if I don't learn about it." Neville had told Hermione when she had asked him about it. "I need to be prepared."

Hermione couldn't believe how quickly Neville had grown up. He no longer even looked like the round-faced boy she'd begun school with; he was a man who had survived a war. He was the first to volunteer when Professor Mcgonagall had finally told them that they would experience the spell themselves now, and were instructed to try to resist.

All of the students, most especially Neville, handled the task well. Most barely released a sound as they were tortured. This was the result of having so much pressure and grief put on them so young; most were so hardened that they fought off the torture well. Neville seemed to thrive, and fought off the spell with ease, but with no joy.

In the last few moments of the class, it was Hermione's turn. She moved to the front of the class, without nerves, because all of the people watching were friends, allies. No one would judge her for her reaction.

She took a deep breath and stepped towards Mcgonagall. Mcgonagall, sombre from her task, repeated the same words she'd said to each of the other students in turn. "Before we begin, are you quite sure that you are up to receiving this curse? There will be no judgement or reprisals if you choose not to participate, Miss Granger."

"I consent to participate in this practical lesson for educational purposes." Hermione replied formally. Mcgonagall aimed her wand.

"_Crucio_."

* * *

Draco Malfoy was in excruciating pain. One minute he was walking down the charms corridor, alone, as was his usual state nowadays, and the next minute he was collapsed on his knees. The pain and shock were so intense, his throat didn't understand how to shout for help. He curled into a ball on the stone floor, his mouth in a silent scream, fire burning in every vein, in every organ, in his very bones. The fire ripped through him, and he was helpless, paralysed by the burning. He vaguely felt hands on his skin and heard shouts through the corridor, but his brain was entirely focused on escaping the fire.

Air rushing past him had no effect on the heat that was scorching his body as he was rushed by unknown people to the hospital wing, and only after he was resting on the cool fabric of the hospital bedsheets did the pain finally, immediately abate. He gasped at the clean air gratefully as it moved in and out of his lungs without causing a fire in his oesophagus. It took him an embarrassingly long time to notice the gleam coming off of his skin. When he did finally look down at his arms, he almost jumped out of the bed, convinced there was someone else in it with him. He gradually, gruellingly came to realise that the silver flesh glowing up at him, reflecting the daylight coming through the windows, was his _own_ skin. He couldn't make more than a strange strangled sound in the back of his throat.

What. The. _Hell_?!

He looked around, but only Madam Pomfrey was in the room with him, the curtains pulled tight around the bed to spare him the mystified gaze of the other students.

"Here." She passed him a mirror. He stared, stupefied into the mirror, his confused brain failing to process what it was witnessing. In the mirror was a creature that looked vaguely like Draco; the same pointed chin and white-gold hair, same prominent cheekbones and strong jaw, but the skin was entirely silver. It glowed in the light streaming through the windows. But the most unusual thing on the face was the eyes. Pitch black where there should be white and colour. White-gold eyelashes blinked over obsidian eyes.

He dropped the mirror on the stone floor, where it shattered.

"Oh, really! _Reparo_." Madam Pomfrey hurried to restore the mirror and place it on the end of his bed.

"What in the name of Merlin have you _done_ to me?" He raged, attempting to use the bedside table to stand on his shaking legs, but the table collapsed under his hand, small splinters of wood crumbled beneath his fingers. On top of everything else, his voice was different; a deep, two-toned sound replacing his own regular voice.

"Sit still, Mr Malfoy, or you can pay for the damage yourself!" Draco obediently sat, having decided he had no other choice. "I have done nothing to you. And frankly, your insinuation that I would do anything that might put a student in harm's way is incredibly misplaced, given my position as _Matron_ of Hogwarts!" She glared beadily at him.

"Then what's happened to me?"

"Your parents will be here shortly with the full explanation. Until then, do sit still and be quiet. You don't want to be drawing extra attention to yourself at a time like this, correct?"

Draco sat forwards on the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and staring at the curtain around the bed, unable to process any more for the time being. As he sat, he slowly watched his skin return to its regular pale appearance. Gradually his hands returned to their normal shade, then his wrists, elbows, and up to his shoulders. When all trace of the silver had retreated from his arms, he assumed it was safe to look in the mirror again. The face staring back at him was entirely his own, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a clattering at the end of the room, and less than five seconds later, his mother appeared around the curtain, closely followed by his father.

"Oh, Draco!" His mother placed a hand on his shoulder; her estimation of a hug.

"Do you know what's going on?" He couldn't restrain himself from asking. "What's happening to me? Am I diseased?"

"No!" His mother said quickly, her eyes reassuring. "No, Draco, you are not diseased. There is nothing wrong with you." Narcissa looked pointedly at Lucius.

Lucius quietly summoned two understated gold chairs to sit by Draco's bedside as Madam Pomfrey and Professor Mcgonagall appeared from behind the curtain also, rolls of parchment in hand. Mcgonagall waved her wand, muttering a silencing charm so that no curious eavesdroppers could listen in on their conversation. All were silent, until Lucius began.

"A long time ago, your great-grandfather's brother, my father's uncle, Xanthus Malfoy, went travelling after his time at Hogwarts. He explored much of Europe, visiting first the more wealthy countries – as was his interest – before embarking on a journey into the less developed countries he came across. He was only twenty-three when he first entered Bulgaria. While there, he travelled to a lesser-known area, one cloaked in secrets and magic, in the hopes of finding a native wizarding village. But what he found was much rarer. Amongst the roughs of forestry in the mountains, in the shadow of the Pirin Mountain, he accidentally stumbled into a Veela settlement.

"The creatures were beyond compare. They were so inhumanly beautiful, their songs enticing and hypnotising, he couldn't help himself. He fell head over heels in love with a Veela woman, Iolana, and stayed with her. They lived for two very happy years in that Veela settlement, but Xanthus missed his home in England. Eventually he convinced her to move back to his home with him, where they got illegally married, and shortly afterwards found themselves with child.

"Abraxas Malfoy, your grandfather, my father, was the Part-Veela child born to Xanthus and Iolana Malfoy."

Stunned silence filled the small curtained bedside.

"But you said Xanthus was my great-grandfather's brother?" Draco said, confused by the sudden revelation of family history.

"Yes. Xanthus and Iolana were not well thought of in society. Xanthus's name has even been scorched off of the Black Family Tree, all because of his love for Iolana. They were not of the same species, and she was not a pure-blood witch. So she had the child in secret, feigning Dragon Pox until she delivered the child. When the child, Abraxas, was born, they knew they could not raise him. They gave him to Xanthus's brother, Antonius Malfoy, and his infertile wife to raise as their own. They intended never to reveal the true nature of the child to anyone, including Abraxas himself. Xanthus and Iolana returned to the Veela settlement, and were never spoken of again.

"Abraxas grew up as a normal, pure-blooded child. His Veela-originating gold hair and grey eyes were so similar to the signature Malfoy colouring that nobody ever questioned his parentage. When he was old enough to receive the Hogwarts letter, his parents waited tensely, not knowing whether his Veela blood would warrant acceptance into Hogwarts, and they worried. His letter arrived, and they were thrilled.

"In Abraxas's sixth year, however, he began experiencing something strange. He felt a pull, not unlike the feel of a portkey. He saved the life of a classmate one day, when she fell from a tree on the Hogwarts grounds, and discovered his skin had turned silver, his eyes black, and he had more strength than he had ever known. His parents had no choice but to tell him the whole story. The classmate whose life he had saved was, as it turned out, his mate."

"His _what_?" Draco's mouth gaped. His hands went up to his temples. So much information flooded his brain, he felt suffocated by it.

"Mate. We'll get to that." Narcissa placed a gentle hand on her son's shoulder.

"Abraxas opted to keep his identity a secret, like his parents before him. He and his mate, Constance, grew up, and got married, and eventually, had me."

"So you're… Part-Veela?"

"Yes. A quarter Veela on my father's side."

"Which means I'm…" Draco trailed off.

"One-eighth Veela."

"_Oh_." Draco was feeling rather dizzy. His head swam.

Professor Mcgonagall, who had been furiously scribbling on her rolls of parchment the whole time, looked up as Madam Pomfrey spoke.

"You won't suffer any health issues due to your Veela heritage. I dealt with one other Part-Veela during the early years of my Healer training. They aren't very common, incredibly rare in fact, but others do exist, and there is some research available because of that. We have some of the documents here, in the Restricted Section of the Library. Nearly all of the documentation claims that Part-Veelas have impeccable health, much healthier than normal wizards. But you may choose to do your own research into all of this."

"In fact, I recommend that you do." Mcgonagall interjected. "Nothing will be more valuable to you on this subject than self-discovery."

Lucius nodded decidedly. "When I discovered my Part-Veela heritage I was sixteen, like my father, and I had taken on my Veela state while I was on my own in my dormitory, thankfully. The Veela state that Part-Veelas enter, where our skin turns silver and we become very strong, happens because we feel what our mates feel, but only in certain situations. Pain, for example." Lucius looked at Draco. "You felt intense pain when you entered a Veela state, didn't you?"

"Yes. It was excruciating." Draco's voice was small.

"That pain was what your mate was experiencing at the time. You entered the Veela state in order to protect them, even though they were likely nowhere near you."

"I have a _mate_?" Draco's lips twisted around the word with disgust.

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other. "Unfortunately, yes. That has become apparent." His mother spoke. "We… We had rather hoped that the bloodline had been diluted enough by now so that you didn't experience anything like this, but it seems this isn't the case."

"Usually, the signs of Veela heritage start showing up around the age of sixteen, and no later than seventeen-"

"But I'm eighteen! This shouldn't be happening!"

"I know. We don't have a clear explanation. We simply have to accept that this_ is_ happening." Narcissa reasoned.

"Easy for you to say!"

"Draco!" Lucius stood. "You will not speak to your mother in that tone."

There was a beat of awkward silence.

"It was not always so easy for us, either." Narcissa levelled. Lucius took her hand as he sat back down beside her.

"What happened?" His mother's tone had piqued Draco's interest again.

"That's… a story for another time." Narcissa ended the conversation decidedly. "You have enough to be dealing with right now."

"You need to be researching your background, to make sure you have full control over yourself and your abilities-"

"_Abilities_?"

"Yes, abilities. You need to learn about them, and you also need to find out exactly who your mate might be." Lucius looked beadily at Draco.

"Right." Draco agreed unenthusiastically. "Aren't they supposed to just drop into my life like they did with you and Grandfather?"

"Please, Draco." Lucius and Narcissa shared a secret-filled smile. "Narcissa didn't just '_drop in'_ to my life. I had to look for her. And so will you."

Draco had never felt so overwhelmed in his life.

* * *

**Please review and tell me what you think, and thank you for reading!**

**\- EllaPenny x**


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